


A Winter's Knight

by cincoflex



Category: Batman Beyond
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, May/December Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:39:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5666392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accident leaves Max and Bruce needing each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Winter's Knight

_From the first touch of frost in late September to the glacial heart of January, the city of Gotham sullenly wrapped herself in snow and ice. Under the cold beauty of the winter season, only the deepest, darkest of hearts survived, biding time and waiting for spring._

Gloria McKenna, The Bruce Wayne Story

Maxine Gibson hated the cold. Winter kept her shivering, kept her cooped up or wrapped up or tensed up in ways she didn't want to think about. Case in point: Terry McGinnis was looking good and Max was annoyed that she was noticing it again. Going there was No-No Land in capital letters, at least for now. Dana was practically a sister, and Max wasn't about to blow a friendship even if Terry did have great eyes and a killer butt. Better to keep smiling and let the erotic dreams do their haunting late in the night. 

In the cold. 

Max sighed, pulling her thoughts away from the never to be and back to the here and now: the Gotham Art Museum, Pfaltzanger Exhibit, a prime sight for a run-in with the Jokerz. As she leaned over the rail on the upper level, she turned her attention back to the solid black frame of Bruce Wayne in the center of the room and tried not to let her mind wander again. It was difficult. The Museum was crowded with interesting guests, and some truly bizarre artwork. Most of the Pfaltzanger pieces seemed to focus on the theme of erotica as filtered through death, and Max wondered how many different drugs the artist needed to suck down to twist metal into these shapes. Her only smile came in seeing Wayne's stony expression reflected on some of the shiny black lacquered surfaces. She liked the irony of the image--a perfect metaphor for the man himself.

Tortured within, impassive without. A click in her ear made her jump. 

"You there?" the radio hummed and she turned the volume down.

"Yep. I don't think your boss is too thrilled by Pfaltzanger's knickknacks, though."

"I'm not surprised. It's all about death and sex--in the last twenty years the old man's seen too much of one and not enough of the other," Terry cynically commented.

Max giggled. "So _you_ say--ever since that Lazarus pit, he's looking pretty good to me these days." And he was, Max had to admit. With those shoulders, Wayne could still walk into a room and own it. 

"Limited time offer," Terry replied, a touch of sadness in his voice. "Told me so himself." 

"Then he should be gettin' biz-zay before the warranty runs out." 

Terry snorted. "With who? You?" 

"Why not?" Max shot back, both amused and annoyed. "Hey, I know quality when I see it--" 

"When you two are done speculating on my sex life, you might want to see who's come in the door . . ." Wayne's deep and oh-so-dry voice cut in. 

Guiltily Max glanced up in time to see a swaggering parade of Jokerz saunter into the museum. They fanned out strategically, moving among the nervous guests in an organized fashion that confirmed suspicions that someone was directing them. 

"Looks like your guess was right--somebody sent in the clowns," Terry observed. 

"It wasn't a guess," Wayne corrected. Max watched as he braced himself, gripping his cane. She tensed. 

"It's showtime--" 

*** *** ***   
In the end, Max had to admit that the old man was good. He had taken out three of them on his own, and by the time the police led the rest of the Jokerz out to the waiting wagon, he stood on the museum steps, impervious to the falling snow, watching. She glanced up at him. The wind had picked up, and the edges of his coat snapped in the gusts. 

"That was--" 

"--diversionary," the bitterness in his voice said it all. Somewhere above them, Terry was off, trailing the one free Joker in hope of discovering the mastermind and for the moment there was nothing else to be done. 

"Let's go," he rumbled impatiently. More snow fell, and Max pulled her jacket closer as he climbed into the driver's seat. The heater felt wonderful. Slowly she pulled out in the post-fiasco traffic, careful to avoid fishtailing. A faint hum told her the partition glass was sliding down. 

"Take the back way," he directed. "Along the river."

Max glanced in the mirror uncertainly. The route would be longer and in this weather, tricker. She wasn't afraid, but her concern must have shown; Wayne leaned forward. 

"Whoever's directing the Jokerz may have seen tonight's setback."

"You think we'll be followed?" a frisson of fear made her voice squeak. 

"Possibly," Wayne let a small smile touch his mouth. "But not likely if we change routes." 

"Gotcha. I just hope you're not in a big hurry to get back," Max grumbled. 

The big car moved forward, fighting through the drifts. Max wished she could put on some music, but a quick glance in the rear-view killed that thought immediately. Wayne had not put the glass back up. He sat in the darkness, the occasional streetlight passing over him. Max liked the way his eyes glittered, as if he could see things written on the soul. 

They drove on, out of the city and into the desolate bluffs over the river. A ferocious gust of wind rocked the car; she counter steered cautiously. Drifts blew across the road and obscured it. Max gritted her teeth. 

"Easy," she muttered to herself. Normally the weather didn't spook her, but the low howl of the wind was starting to get under her skin. The car fought her. As she hunched over the steering wheel she heard another louder sound begin to rumble under her feet. Brutal jarring bucked her forward and the car shook violently. 

Wayne lunged his upper body through the partition and one big hand grabbed the wheel, steadying it. Max fought the urge to scream as seconds later the car slid to a shuddering stop. She drew in a deep shaky breath. Wayne's arms were around either side of her gripping the wheel, bracing her firmly. 

"The axle's broken," Wayne rumbled, as if stopping a car from crashing were an everyday event. Max managed a weak grin, remembering that once upon a time for him it had been. She felt his chin on her shoulder, and could smell his aftershave. Cheval Noir, she dimly recalled. 

"Broken?"

"We went over something in the road--probably part of a fallen tree." Wayne released the wheel and ordered, "Put on the brake." 

He climbed out of the car and opened the hood, but Max could barely see him through the windshield as the snow swirled in thick flurries. She felt the slam of the hood. When he got in again, the wind hissed around him. 

"Is it bad?" 

"Let's just say it's good that I'm rich," he replied shortly, brushing off the snow. Max reached for her cell phone. Wayne shook his head. 

"Don't bother. Even if you could get through, the plows won't roll until morning." 

"So we're stuck here?" she demanded.

Wayne studied her. "Looks that way." 

Neither said anything more for a moment as they stared at each other through the open chauffeur window. Max finally looked away first and gave a long-suffering sigh. 

"That's just great! We'll freeze to death!" 

"Not necessarily. Get in the back with me," Wayne rumbled. 

Startled, Max's dark eyes went wide. "Thinking of sharing a little body heat?" she meant it to sound cynical and cool, but her voice shook. 

Wayne merely looked at her.

She tried again. "I mean, aren't you at least going to say something like 'don't be afraid of me?'" Now her words were definitely wavery.

Wayne said nothing. The grim little smile on the corners of his mouth mocked her, and before she could stop herself, Max scrambled, climbing though the partition to tumble into the back seat of the limo. She sat up, trying to justify the heat running through her as anger, but not fully succeeding. 

"Glad you could make it," Wayne growled. 

"Yeah, well, just don't get any ideas."

" _I'm_ not the one with ideas," Wayne replied. Max blushed, although it was getting too dark to be seen by either of them. She took a breath, deciding that the best defense was a self-righteous offense. 

"Look Mr. Wayne, just what are you accusing me of?"

"Overactive hormones, mostly," came his dry response.

Max bit her lips, trying to think of some answer to that and failing. She was bright enough to see the truth of his remark, and shy enough to feel humiliated by it as well. It was unnerving as hell. As the first prickle of tears wet her lids, she felt a handkerchief being pressed in her palm. 

"Sorry. I'm not in the habit of making women cry," Wayne intoned softly. Max wiped her eyes soundlessly with the crisp linen, her fingers running over the embroidered initials on the corner. 

Gathering the shreds of her dignity, Max shifted as far away from him as she could. "Yeah, well at least you admit I'm a woman," she countered. Outside the wind shook the car with renewed fury, and tiny gusts of cold drifted in. 

"I'm old, Max, not blind," Wayne's voice held a note of self- deprecation. "Believe me, I'm well aware of your neglected charms." 

She sat up, curiosity and hostility warring within her. Max toyed with the handkerchief, folding and refolding it until she couldn't stand not knowing a moment longer. 

"What do you mean, neglected charms?" 

Wayne turned his head and she could see his dark outline against the white window. He arched a dark eyebrow. "When was the last time you had sex, Max?" 

She jumped, cheeks flaming crimson, heat radiating so forcefully from her face that she was sure the interior of the car would catch fire. Her full lips opened; nothing came out for a moment but a gasp. 

"A year at least. Probably closer to two," Wayne's deep voice mused. "A long time for someone as constantly aroused and frustrated as you are." 

"Oh God . . ." Max moaned as her embarrassment expanded exponentially. Her fingers were twisting the handkerchief so tightly it was almost a cord. 

Wayne sighed. "It's a tension I'm familiar with." 

Neither one of them spoke again for almost an hour. Max didn't dare look at the man sitting next to her. She focused on the snow piling up outside the window, watching the drifts pile up, her body refusing to relax. Gradually she flexed her fingers and rolled her head to loosen up the muscles of her neck. She risked a peek at him. 

"I didn't know it showed that much," she muttered in a low voice. 

Wayne laughed softly. "Let's just say I have better personal radar than McGinnis."

"Why doesn't that surprise me? You did have the rep back in the day-- at least that's what the bios say," Max replied, stretching her legs, and wishing that she'd worn thicker leggings. Wayne said nothing, and sensing an opening, she added, "If it comes down to it, when was the last time _you_ had sex, Mr. Wayne?"

There was a long pause, and then-- 

"With someone else?" 

Max burst into giggles, spluttering away the accumulated tension in the unexpected honesty of his reply. Her whole body shook in spasms, and she developed a stitch in her side, but it felt too good to just let it all out. Wayne was no help; every time she was close to recovering, she'd look over and see his dour expression and start another fresh round of laughing. The handkerchief went back to her eyes. 

Gradually, she managed to draw a breath and straighten up. She felt warmer, and far less tense for the first time in months. Running a hand through her fine pink hair, she smiled. "You did that on purpose." 

"Possibly." 

"And you didn't answer the question, either." 

Another pause, then-- 

"Eight years. Not that I'm keeping track," he replied shortly.

Max shook her head in empathy. "Yow . . . and I thought _I_ had it bad," she replied with feeling. A part of her mind wondered why he was telling her something he'd _never_ have revealed to Terry. Other parts of her body didn't really have to wonder; she squirmed. 

"You do realize how dangerous this situation is, don't you? The two of us trapped like this . . . I mean, it really is possible that . . . we might . . ." 

"The thought had crossed my mind." 

"Really?" Max gave a sidelong glance at Wayne, who was doing the same looking at her. 

She pursed her full lips. "Are you coming on to me?" 

"Not yet." 

"Are you thinking about it?" 

"Yes." 

"Well Jeez, what's stopping you?" she blurted out with amusement.

"Experience," he sighed. For the first time, Max could see a hint of vulnerability on his stern face. He crossed his fingers in front of him and the words came out in one urgent flow. 

"There's an emotional price to be paid anytime a line is crossed, Max. Much as I want you here and now, I won't risk leaving you wondering about what the future holds. There is no future for me--all I can do is give you some momentary satisfaction and keep you from doing things you might later regret." 

"Like making a pass at Terry?" she whispered sadly.

Wayne sighed. "Believe me, he isn't ready for what you have to offer." 

"And you _are_?" As the words left her mouth, she saw him smile for the first time, a full, soft, knowing smile that sent a hot surge from her throat to between her thighs. 

"Oh yes," he rumbled. 

Suddenly Max realized she'd scooted closer to him; her body knew all along what her mind was only acknowledging now. This man could and would devote himself to her pleasure; the awareness made her almost giddy. 

"But--it's really all up to me," she slowly stated.

Wayne nodded, just as slowly. 

"Why?" 

"Because you deserve the right to a _choice,_ " he told her simply. "No one else's needs matter. Yes or no is strictly your domain on this." 

She gave a wry laugh. "Anyone ever tell you that you've got a hell of a seductive technique?" 

"It's been thrown in my face once or twice."

"I bet," Max drew in a deep breath. The night was growing colder, and suddenly she shivered, but not from the temperature. Lightly, impulsively, she reached out a hand and dropped it over his.

"I'm _not_ going to call you Mr. Wayne," she warned.

He flashed a glint of a smile at her. "Bruce," He agreed. "Come here." 

He pulled her onto his lap, and the comforting warmth of him overwhelmed her, radiating through her chilly limbs. She savored the contact, breathing in the enticing scent of _Cheval Noir_ that he wore. Max ran her fingers along the front of his greatcoat nervously. He looked down at her, and gently wrapped his arms around her waist. 

"Warmer?"

"Getting there--" she raised her face and lightly leaned forward to press her mouth to his. His kiss was soft and patient; Max relaxed.

Another kiss followed, and she lost herself in the unexpected sweetness of his gentle taste. With a surge of daring, she timidly flicked her tongue against his lower lip; he smiled against her mouth. He took her head in his hands; deliberately he planted kisses just under her ear and down her throat. Max sighed as the heat flared up within her. Her hands went around the back of his neck, and this time when she opened her mouth to his, their tongues met in the wet caress of a far deeper tango. 

Max groaned as her body's passion flared up, searing her senses. Wayne drew kisses from her, made her wriggle and sigh as they held each other. She tasted his chin, his earlobes, the bridge of his nose. Gravely amused, he let her explore his face before coming back to the seductive promise of his mouth. Max proved herself an apt pupil, and more than matched his intensity kiss by lick by nibble. 

Gradually she shifted, straddling his lap, her hands slipping under the greatcoat to the black turtleneck beneath. Wayne sat back, watching her as she did so. 

"Man you've got muscles . . ." she marvelled softly. Wayne took her hands and guided them under the turtleneck, letting them touch the grizzled fur and taut wide pectorals of his chest. She hummed happily. 

"That pit did you gooooood." 

"Maybe," he conceded. "The looks are gone, but the body's still rejuvenated." 

"And already had a good body to work with--" came her pleased voice. His laugh turned into a sigh as Max's hands slid over his nipples. Emboldened, she pulled his shirt up and gently rubbed her mouth across his broad chest, delighting in this personal power to make him react. Wayne's breathing was deeper; his eyes were half-closed. Max shivered again.

Deftly, Wayne's big hands slid up and under Max's heavy sweater, lightly caressing her warm skin. Impatient with that, she yanked the pullover up to her throat, completely exposing her full and lovely chest. Wayne sighed.

"Max--" something in the tone of his voice sent a surge through her that shattered the last of her hesitancy. She licked her full lips.   
Wayne's hands cupped her slender back and pulled her to him; his tongue circled one dark nipple then the other. She wrapped her arms around his neck. His teeth gently closed down on the ruckered flesh in a slow and deliberate nip. Max squealed with pleasure, tossing her head back. Molten heat flushed her veins, giving her breathless delight. Together they managed to pull the sweater over her head and off of her; it lay discarded in an Angora heap on the back seat. 

He was ruthlessly subtle, and infinitely patient, his hot press of his mouth leaving no inch unkissed; Max felt the flick of his tongue everywhere. She scrabbled with his shirt, his coat, her entire consciousness reduced to animal response, but he refused to rush anything. The dim half-light of the snowy night lent a dreamy aura to it all, taking away sharp definition but leaving the warmth and the scent. 

Max finally pressed herself to him, bare chest to bare chest, hearing her own frantic heartbeat against the stronger rhythm of his. Her fingers knew his back, his strong shoulders, the hard lean lines of muscle so often hidden under the sober black of his clothing. She felt his hands press possessively down her spine to slide into her leggings and cup her buttocks. 

"Max?" the bass whisper of his voice was softly offering her a chance to turn back; to stop. She shook her head fiercely, and yanked her Doc Martens off, hearing them thump heavily on the carpeted car floor. 

"More," she demanded, biting her lips. With a pleased sigh, he shifted her off of his lap to lie on the seat at his side. The thick velour under her bare skin was incredibly sensuous, and she wriggled a little as he worked her leggings off. She looked down the length of her body, reaching for him, but he took her foot, pressed a kiss to one delicate ankle, and began to work his way down her leg, mouthing the inside. Max began to breathe in panicked little gasps, knowing full well that she would never manage to take the intensity of his focus. He stopped. She shook her head again. 

"You can't. I'm so close already, I'll--" 

"--Good." He let his tongue flick across the tender flesh at the back of her knee and she twitched. By the time he reached the inside of her thigh, she was shuddering. Wayne merely smiled and shook his head, looking at the silky patch of pink fur between her thighs for a moment before dropping to kiss it. His tongue circled the tight bud deep within it, and Max arched up, a long yodelling wail of delight rising out of her. 

Moments later, burning with embarrassment and satisfaction she opened her eyes. A strange mingling of shyness and desire resonated through her young body. Wayne gathered her up into his lap once more, his big hands rubbing across the back of her shoulders as she drew in a deep sigh  
.   
"I'm sorry," Max whispered, her cheek resting his shoulder. "I just really, really--" 

"-- _needed_ that," he finished in a pleased growl. She nodded, savouring the moment before lifting her face and looking into his dark eyes. Under her, she could feel the hard ridge of him straining against the cloth of his trousers; she reached down between their bodies with deliberate tenderness. 

"It's a hell of a time to ask, I know, but--" 

"Vasectomy. Almost forty years ago." he replied resignedly. "Convenient for the bachelor image, but ends the Wayne line right here." 

Max rubbed, and he grunted involuntarily with pleasure.

"Max--" for the first time his deep voice held the barest hint of a plea, and she gave him a smile of dazzling sweetness. 

"No more waiting--" she freed him, her hand sliding up the heated length of his cock. Raising herself up to straddle him once more, she pressed the tip of his thick shaft against her wet pink fur. Wayne's hands encircled her hips; slowly he pulled her down. Their mutual groans echoed through the car in an erotic duet. 

Max buried her face in Wayne's neck, her body molded to his as he thrust into her. She gasped at the slick hot sensation; the fullness, the ache building again with each quicker stroke. After several moments, his grip tightened, his mouth pressed to her ear. 

"God, Max, I--" his voice was raw with desire. 

"--Good," she groaned back at him, pumping harder. Wayne's hands shifted from her hips to her back, and he rumbled a deep desperate growl as he came, gripping her tightly. Max squealed as a second wave of pleasure hit her; she spasmed against him, hard nipples grazing his chest, tears trickling down her face. 

For a long time, neither of them moved or spoke. Max's head rested under his chin, his arms were locked around her in a quiet possessiveness. She sighed, a contented sound that drew an answering chuckle from him. 

"Warmer?" 

"Oh yes," she smiled. 

He sighed. "The plows will be out in a few hours." 

"So soon?" she didn't mean to sound disappointed, but he merely nodded, reaching for her leggings and sweater. He slowly dressed her; Max let him, understanding his need to touch her for a while longer. One more handkerchief was pressed into service, wiping away all traces before disappearing deep in Wayne's greatcoat pocket. She felt awkward, and bit her lip as he seemed to withdraw into himself, but when she tried to climb off of his lap, his grip instantly tightened. 

"Not yet." his lips pressed to her temple, he pulled her head to rest against him. Max smiled.

"Thank you," she whispered. In answer, he wrapped the greatcoat around both of them. Max drifted off to sleep.

Wayne turned his stony gaze out of the window, his expression unreadable, his thoughts unreachable. 

*** *** *** 

Terry shook his head, amused by it all. He'd had a productive night-- he'd tracked the lone Joker, broken up the ring and turned over the new boss to the police. But Max--

"So you wrecked the car and ended up out here all night with Mr. Charming himself? Man, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy." he commented, watching the tow truck begin to drag off the limo.

Max looked away, to where Wayne was discussing something with the police. In the daylight, the snow sparkled, fresh and clean.   
"It sure wasn't what I expected,” she conceded with an inward smile. Terry rolled his eyes. 

"I bet. The man's not exactly noted for his conversational style. I hope he wasn't too hard on you. Did you stay warm enough?" 

Max bit back a giggle, and shifted her hips. "Um, yeah."

Terry shot a sharp look at her. She seemed different, less edgy. The smile on her face-- 

"Max--" before he could ask anything further, the man himself strode up, cane making holes in the snow. Terry met the older man's gaze and sighed. Impassive as ever. 

"Ready to go?" 

Wayne nodded. The three of them moved to the waiting car. "I'll drive," Terry offered quickly, climbing in. "That is, if you two don't mind sharing a back seat again." Wayne and Max looked at each other, a tiny smile passing between them. Max laughed softly, her pink hair blowing in the fresh breeze of the morning. 

"Again, Mr. Wayne?" She whispered. He arched a dark eyebrow at her, and a flash of tenderness crossed his features. 

"Your choice, Miss Gibson, always." 

Her laugh floated on the air as she climbed into the car. 

end


End file.
